France Finds Forks
by Chris B Jones
Summary: Germany learns the story of how France was introduced to forks. Something I wrote for my History class based off of something my teacher commented on.


FRANCE FINDS FORKS

"What? No!" Ludwig Beilschmit, the personification of the nation of Germany, stared at his two companions in amazement. One was a slim young man with brown hair and a long curl sticking out to the left of his head. The other was an older man with shoulder-length blond hair and blue eyes. Some golden stubble peppered his chin. The brunet gave his best friend a wide grin.

"Ve! It's true!" Feliciano Vargas, representative of Northern Italy, told his friend. "I taught Big Brother France how to use a fork! My people invented them." He clung to Ludwig's arm happily. "We have to eat our pasta _some_ how."

Frances Bonnefoi, the self-proclaimed 'big brother' of Europe, chuckled as he twirled his pasta on his fork. "Onhonhonhon. You two are so cute together." He chuckled again as Ludwig blushed. "Feli, where is your brother? Isn't he going to join us?"

"No, Lovino is spending the week with Antonio. When he found out that I was inviting you for dinner, he said that he preferred spending his evening with an _**idiota**_ than with a … _**perra**_ _?_ " Feliciano tried to pronounce the Spanish word

"Ah, when will that boy learn? I am not some whore! I just believe in giving _amour_ to everyone!" Frances cried, pretending to be hurt. "Or does that mean that he trusts you with me now?"

"Ve! No! _**Fretello**_ says that as long as Luddy is here, than you won't try anything."

"Anyway," Ludwig called out, "How did Feli teach Frances to use forks? There has to be a story behind this."

"There is! Do you remember Frances? It was when _**Gattino**_ married your…"

"Honri II. You know they named their eldest son after me." Frances smiled at the memory. "Back when I still was pretty powerful. Of course, after my religious wars, I became even more powerful. Let's see it was October 1533…"

###

France stood at the dock in Toulon, watching the Italian fleet dock. One of the ships flew the flag of the Medici house. On board would be Catalina de Medici, soon to be wife of Henri son of Francis. Accompanying her was a dozen of her father's personal guard, as well as the representative of the land, Italia Veneziano. His grandfather, old Rome, had sent him to meet with France and ensure that the wedding went smoothly.

It would be a strong match for the prince and princess, and bring great wealth to both countries; few if any marriages were blessed with the thought of love behind it. 'Among long-established elites, blood and family ties were valued more than almost anything else.'* Power was the most sought after results of a marriage. And this one would most certainly bring that; after all, 'four of Europe's largest cities were to be found in Italy. Only Paris was their equal.'**France was quite proud of his heart and people for doing such a feat.

As the ships docked, he could see Catalina standing by the mast. She was wearing a dress of red with puffed sleeves and trimmed with fur. The blue embroidery along the dress matched her Lapis Lazuli necklace. Next to her was a young boy, looking about seven. He shifted nervously from one foot to the other, looking eagerly at the docks. He spotted France and waved excitedly. France smiled and waved back slowly.

The moment the gangplank had be lowered, the boy bolted down and stopped before him. He grinned broadly up at France, before speaking in broken French.

"Ve! _**Bonjor**_ , me Italia Veneziano! You France?"

" _ **Oui**_ , little one, I am France." France bent down so he could see the smaller nation in the eye. He was so cute! Those bright hazel eyes, that sweet little mouth, such beautiful hair… he realized Veneziano had moved back to the princess as she stepped down the gangplank. He now stood beside her with his hand on his dagger hilt.

Frances realized that the boy had a second role here. Nothing would protect Catalina better than her own nation representative. All representatives were stronger, faster, and far more deadly than any human could be; they protect their nobles with everything they have. In short, only France himself stood a chance at killing the Lady with a weapon. But Veneziano had been trained by the great Roman Empire himself. Not even the Spanish Empire could beat him.

Francis, the eldest son of the king, stepped forward and bowed low. He greeted the princess in all the customary respects and everyone entered the carriages. France and Veneziano rode with Frances and Cathelina in the royal carriage. The Musketeers of the Guard, under France's personal control, rode in the front with the Italian guard ridding behind.

It took several days to reach Paris. They stopped at inns along the way, with the Italian princess disappearing into her chambers as soon as they arrived and only making an appearance in the morning. Food was brought to her, and the young Veneziano never left her side. When the weather was nice, the four would ride on horses instead of the carriage. France learned a lot about the small nation during those rides: he loved to paint and draw, was obsessed with a dish he called pasta, and wanted to be friends with everyone.

Once they found themselves talking about war and battles they had fought. France was going on about the battle of Tours:

"So we had Rahman surrounded as he tried to keep his soldiers from retreating. Charles comes in swinging his mighty war hammer and smashes Rahman's head! It goes flying a hundred yards and rolls down a rabbit hole.

"Ve! That's amazing! Those Muslims are so scary! _**Nono**_ had to chase them off several times over the years, and Byzantine almost got Romano once!"

"Romano? Who's that?"

The Italian smiled wide. "He's my big brother! He's living with Spain right now though. Grandpa says that it's for the best right now, but promises that someday we'll live together again! I can't wait!"

"Ah, you have a brother. That must be nice."  
"Don't you have a brother?"

"No, it's just me."

"Ve! That's awful! I know! We'll be seeing each other a lot now won't we? With _**Gattino**_ and Henri marrying?"

"Oui, we will."

"Then I'll be you little brother! You can be Big Brother France!"

"But we might go to war against each other someday. In fact, I can guarantee it. Humans never remember old alliances after a hundred years or so."

"So? You'll still be my big brother!"

###

"Hold on." Ludwig interrupted the tale. "That's when you started calling yourself a big brother?"

"Si! I'm the one who started that!"

"Somehow, I can believe it."

"Ve… it was nice ridding together like that. We should do it again someday."

"Mmm." Frances replied. "I don't keep horses anymore, but I believe Alfred does. You know how he feels about his 'wild' west."

"Yah! We could ask him if we could borrow them sometime!"

"Ja, ja. When did you teach Frances about your forks?" Ludwig broke into the discussion.

"Well," Frances took up the tale again; "it wasn't until we reached Paris that I found out about them…"

###

It was the evening before the wedding. Catalina and Henri got along well enough, and France enjoyed the company of Northern Italia. They were sitting at the table, waiting for supper to be served. Catalina had brought cooks over and they were hosting tonight. Finally the head cook, a chubby man named Tony, stepped before the royal table.

"My lords and ladies," he began, "I am pleased to present to you all, one of the most popular dishes found in our beloved Florence! It is a dish that originated in distant Cathay brought to our dear country by the acclaimed explorer and adventurer Marco Polo, my dear ancestor, may he _**riposa in pace**_. Mixed for you today sauce made from the tomato fruit from the New World and some rare spices from India. Sticks of bread from your own bakers have been included. I present to you now a dish we call, _**Spaghetto**_."

Servants brought out dishes and began to place them before the nobles. France stared at the dish: it was long, thin strands of boiled flour mixed with a red sauce, presumably the tomato fruit the cook had mentioned. France looked over at Italia questionably, wondering how he was supposed to eat it. To his surprise, Italia was using some tool France had never seen before.

Italia took a big bite of the food, slurping the noodle that didn't make it into his mouth. He glanced over and saw France staring at him. He blushed, a bright red that covered his entire face, and wiggled his fingers discreetly. France looked at his own place again and spotted a tool like what the smaller nation had. It looked like the pitchforks that his peasants used for farming or like what the demons held when they were painted on the cathedrals.

France picked pitchfork up and stabbed it into the dish. He glanced over at Italia again to see him twirling the pasta between the prongs, before picking it up and eating it. Catalina was helping Henri use his. France copied them and found that it was quite a challenge to use without making a mess. The sauce got everywhere, and the pasta refused to stay on his pitchfork. Italia watched with a wide smile. France smiled uncertainly back and used some bread to wipe up some sauce. He motioned to a servant and whispered something into the man's ear.

The servant walked over and whispered France's question to Italia. The boy stared at France for a moment in amazement, before answering to the servant, who hurried back.

"He says that they're called…" the servant struggled to pronounce the Italian. "… _**Forcone**_ I believe. He wonders if you have never seen them before."

France dismissed the servant and shook his head towards Italia who was watching him. The little boy's eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped. Afterwards dinner, he approached France.

"Ve! I'm so sorry that I didn't teach you how to use forks!" he cried. "I just assumed that everyone knew how!"

"I guess it's all right, but, will they be used at the wedding feast?"

"Oh, they will! I know! I can teach you how to use them for tomorrow! We can meet and I'll help you use them. Bring Henri with you, ok? We can show him too."

The rest of the evening was spent with the two Frenchmen learning from the friendly little Italian. By the time they went to bed, they felt comfortable using the _**fourcher**_ , as Henri called it.

The next day dawned bright and clear. The wedding went without a hitch, with the pope himself conducting the ceremony. Afterwards they had the feast, followed by jousting. Henri joined in with the nobles on horseback. Although the _**Roy**_ himself followed the newlyweds as they left for their rooms, there was little problems and the celebrations went far into the night. It was nearly dawn when France retired to his own chambers.

Over the next couple days, France became better acquainted with using a _**fourcher**_. It soon became expected to find one at the table of any noble man in France. It certainly had use, and not just for pasta. It could stab meat and fruit far better than a knife or dagger, and the chances of cutting one's tongue was removed entirely.

###

"So that's what happened." Ludwig stated.

"Yep! It was funny to watch them though. They made such a mess!"

"Ah, you wouldn't think it so funny if it were your silks that were getting sauce on! You know full well how impossible it is to get red coloring out of clothes; especially then, when we didn't have stain-stick or washing machines." Frances shot back.

"Ve, that's true." Feli nodded. "I still get stains from it at times. Lovi has one outfit that he uses when he's making the sauce and can get real messy."

"Clever boy." Frances nodded and stood. "Feliciano, where do you keep the wine again?"

"Ve! Yah! I'll get it! Luddy, do you want some beer instead?" He asked as he left the room.

" _ **Danke**_ , but no. I'll have some of your wine."


End file.
